Category: Language

Whitman’s Hands

Siena Rose2 Comments

for Chris

There’s something about you that makes my heart hum
With what Whitman calls “life”
What Cummings calls puddle-wonder
and becoming “who you really are”

Something about your eyes, playing stars in your head
Or maybe your hands, rough and large
But it isn’t any Thing at all, really
My heart hums with you
Even if I try to ignore the hum, push it out
I can’t pass this stranger by, this knowing

This love
That does not burn, but rather builds up
That does not consume, but rather grows slow

Curls into the sun like peas, smells sweet like tomatoes
The poets were right: noticing is love
Anguish is love too, but much less full of hum

I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

More Than Us

Siena Rose2 Comments

inspired by the squirrels living in our ceiling

I have dreams about large animals
lounging in the rafters
smiling down at me with their kind eyes
lifting feathers with their sighs

the footsteps in my ceiling
they keep me up at night
I imagine they belong to gentle bears
or doves in quiet pairs

this house is home to more than us
but we’ll never see their glorious

asleep behind the table there
aglow with dreams of steadfast care
this house is home to more than us

I wake up to the dinosaurs
trudging through the yard
crying tears and tears and tears and tears and tears
surprised to end up here

polar bears and elephants
otters kissing lambs
I can hear their heartbeats pressed against the walls
I listen for their calls

this house is home to more than us
but we’ll never see their glorious

asleep behind the table there
aglow with dreams of steadfast care
this house is home to more than us

Grammy

Siena RoseLeave a comment

I’ll go to visit you 
In the green fields of my youth 
Your skin as soft as flowers 
That dot the hillside 

My mother she will hold 
Your hand until she knows 
That you will safely make it
Through her memories 

I remember summer treats
Blueberries between my teeth 
Raw cane sugar in a little bowl
Whole-oat oatmeal by the window 

I can’t recall the sound 
Of your voice while we sat around 
The dining room table full 
Of food we had to share

I loved that magnet on your fridge 
Of Jesus on a tie die binge 
I’d get him down to his underwear
Then dress him up again